Parole Blows

I had to go check in with my PO today. EVERY parolee in my county has to show up on Tuesday for some dumb reason, so the place is packed and the wait is long. Parole procedures basically exist to harass us. Sometimes she makes me put my dick in a cup and piss, and if the drugs show up I either go to more intensive rehab or back upstate for a few months. Any which way you stick it, it’s a vigorous ass fucking right up my dankness. I already served six years on a 3-9 for possessing some really awesome cheap drugs and selling them to my friends for super dope prices. Ask the average jackass on the street and he’ll probably tell you I repaid my debt, but no, now I gotta deal with this shit.

This PO lady came in my house at 4:45 AM—that’s harassment. She won’t let me drive and I’m out in the burbs—that’s an unfair handicap. Parole blows. I do not recommend it to anyone. Supervision is for two-year-olds and retards, and I’m not two and only half-retarded.

While I was at the parole building this morning (for two hours!) I ran into a couple recently released dope fiends, and immediately began to have depressing flashbacks of the clink-clink. I kinda forget about all the unbonerableness I went through in there, but once in a while I reminisce about the bleaker times. Some of the stinkiness comes from the shit I dragged my family and girls through. Prison visits from my parents probably induce more unpleasant involuntary shudders than flashbacks of fuckin’ that fat indigenous cavewoman who I accidentally fisted, so I’d rather describe some visits from my dearly beloved girlfriends.

When I caught my case in ‘04 I had been real tight for a few years with a megabonerable broad I’ll call Coozy CumSponge. I was out on bail and knew I was going to jail for some time, and our relationship deteriorated rather unfortunately to the point where we basically decided to break up. However, Coozy decided she loved me too much and wanted to ride with me, so she came to visit the first couple days I was locked up.

Coozy came in bawling hysterically and blew snot bubbles and chokesobbed for a half hour, until finally settling down somewhat for 15 minutes. Then she lost her shit again and cried like a battered baby for the remainder of the visit. She only lasted three or four months before she stopped visiting and writing. One of my friends wrote me a letter that said, “Bert, I’m really sorry to be the one who has to write this to you, but I feel it’s the right thing to do. I know it’s really fucked up, but last night I was looking for Suzie SlutCakes and walked into Coozy CumSponge’s room on accident. She was ass-naked with Wart Cockface getting HogSlammed.” No need for explanation, really, but Miss CumSponge was no longer my TittyBaby. I was real sad about that for a long time.

When I went back to jail in ‘06 I was with another crazy sexpig chick who I somehow fell in love with. I called her PussyMouth. She was actually my partner in crime selling drugs, and we were arrested together. She got bailed out and I was stuck in jail ‘cause dudes on parole can’t get bail, even though we’re supposedly innocent until proven guilty. Not that year.

PussyMouth was a fuckin’ mess. She missed the first time she was supposed to visit, which really reduced my heart to shards. One visit she came with burns on her lips. I’m not too familiar with the art of smoking crack, but I do know that burnt lips like hers only come from one thing. I felt real weird kissin’ and tonguing her that day, but was so desperate for niceness that I didn’t call her out. I didn’t see that PussyMouth too often after that. After we got ready for the trial, she ended up snitching on me (even though I paid for her lawyer) after she got arrested again, and claimed I gave her all the drugs, beat her, and transmogrified her into a crack addict. That was a long, tough pill to swallow.

Two years later I got out on work release and found another beautiful baby to adore, and subsequently subject to a miserable relationship annihilated by long-distance incarceration. This female was far better than the rest, though. The first time she came to visit me in the tundra she crashed her car and could’ve died, but she managed to rent a car and make it to me because she missed me. That kinda start to a prison relationship is a pretty good indicator.

I recall one of her first forays being quite a shock to her. Occasionally, the visits got very loose if certain COs were on duty who didn’t really give a sucked dick about what was poppin’ off around them. There was one particular couple that was basically a pimp and a whore (a common jail relationship in some unfortunate communities) who constantly beat on each other, but then she would always somehow manage to jack him off and give him monster head sessions without getting caught. They were right next to us on one of these Sundays, and he pulled his dick out and she worked it for about an hour it seemed, and the whole time my girl was staring with her mouth open expounding on how big his hog was and how voluminous the sperm showers were. I was pretty disgruntled by this and kept telling her to stop clockin’ dude’s dick, but she wouldn’t. She was hooked and couldn’t stop staring.

About ten more times, for good measure, she told me how huuuge his cock was, even using her arm as a gauge. She wouldn’t even pay attention to my dick. I’m kinda sheepish in a room full of people (moms, kids, babies, grandpas), but I felt like a real piece of shit with her just staring at dude’s dick the whole time like she was watching bone-poppin’ porno.

Were there a few good visits? Thinking back… sure, I had a blast the majority of the time, especially when my buttpocket was getting packed, but daaaam, all in all prison is pretty painful. Parole is an extension of prison, and besides being a huuuge fucking pain in the ass/thorn in the pride/knicker in the knot, reporting to my PO serves as an unfriendly reminder of how awful my life can be, which, momentarily, makes me behave like a scared and obedient dog.